


june 30th; 4:12 p.m

by orphan_account



Series: plucking at the heartstrings [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friendship/Love, M/M, Prose Poem, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8058973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: held within the quiet hum of bees and late summer insects, two friends talk. it is nothing short of knowing each other, as well as knowing that the chill of autumn will soon come to wipe away the sickly sweet coating of berries and sunshine.
from kageyama,to hinata.





	

If the flowers could speak, he says, they would always be singing. 

Not words, simply melodies. 

His bright eyes trace the skies and make outlines of the clouds. 

They sit. 

Unafraid of being stung, they sit. 

They sit, but the words fly like the pollen between them; it isn’t unusual.

 

Orange is the color of meadows, he thinks.

It occurs in nature, like the blue of his ocean eyes,

But it does nothing but captivate him.

Days like these, he knows, don’t deserve the extra sunlight.

 

He doesn’t deserve to burn.

It’s a good thing he put on sunscreen.

 

Late afternoon is no time to be wasted,

In lazy tracings of fingers on freckled cheeks

Or laughter that takes a while to coax out.

 

The meandering of tiptoeing between

Are we friends, or maybe more?

He knows it’s the sun talking for him,

But he listens nonetheless

Acting as oblivious as the bees before the star sets.

 

Honey is made at all times of day,

But the sweetness can only last so long

As it sits on the tongue.

 

He wants to speak

But he’s never been good at crafting words,

Like honeycombs containing sentiments

That are surely too sweet to be swallowed.

 

Because late afternoon is no time to be wasted,

No time to frolic in the field of feeling sorry for himself,

Or for the things

He leaves unsaid as he bids farewell

To the day and to the Sun. His sun.

 

The sun sets

And he’s not upset

Because it will surely rise for the rest

Of summer.

 

His summer, he knows,

Is no time to be wasted.

No time to waste on avoiding

A ploy to make the sun stay in the sky.

 

Just stay,

Until the solstice

Of realizing there’s more to this

Than he ever could have thought.


End file.
